


Finding Home

by baroquedesert73



Series: The Hollow Trilogy [2]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:41:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26777536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baroquedesert73/pseuds/baroquedesert73
Summary: After the many tragic events, Darryl continued the journey that he and Zak started. He encounters many things along the way, good and bad, but manages to make his way through it all.But there's something more to this all. And Darryl's strives to uncover it.---You can find me at baroquedesert73 on Tumblr or my email: baroquedesert73@gmail.com
Relationships: Zak Ahmed & Darryl Noveschosch, Zak Ahmed/Darryl Noveschosch
Series: The Hollow Trilogy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952239
Comments: 7
Kudos: 27





	1. It's Not The End Of The Line

**Chapter 1 - It's Not The End Of The Line**  
  


Darryl gently set Zak's cold and lifeless body on the even colder snow. His body sank into the frigid snow with ease. Zak was full of life and warmth almost a few minutes ago. Darryl found it difficult to believe that. He realized that he has grown attached to Zak over the weeks.

Darryl wiped at his puffy, red eyes. He had wept until he could not anymore. He had thought about going back to Vincent and Clay, but they were too far. He couldn't find the courage to resume the journey he and Zak were on. Most of all, he was afraid. He was afraid of going out on his own in the wilderness. He was also afraid of what would await him at home. With Zak, he wasn't afraid. With Zak, he would encounter whatever was in his way without a fret.

But he couldn't do that anymore. At least, not without Zak.

It was getting colder and darker with each passing second where Darryl was grieving for his late friend. It's bizarre how quickly somebody can get attached. It could take but only a day or an hour. Minutes, even.

Darryl watched Zak's motionless body as if he were waiting for something to happen. He waited and watched, but nothing was happening. Darryl was empty inside. He couldn't bother to light a fire as he was getting colder and losing body temperature. He was lost. The only thing he could do -- what he found himself doing -- was lay next to Zak. He took off his backpack and used it as a substitute pillow.

The Milky Way shone luminously above. It was hard to think that all of the blue, purple, and pink blotches each resembled millions of stars. And around each star lie planets. Darryl didn't see the Milky Way back in Florida. In fact, no one really ever did. There were too many artificial lights. Perhaps the geomagnetic storm that wiped out the lights and electricity everywhere was for the better. It gave emphasis to an aspect of the world that was, for the most part, hidden. Darryl smiled a weak, sad smile to himself. He reckoned that the melancholy climate would bring him to tears again, but he stayed strong. He didn't give in this time. He instead thought of the future and what lies ahead of him.

A radiant streak of light whisking across the sky at a remarkable speed suspended him from his thoughts. A shooting star. He generally didn't believe in wishing on them, but he decided to. Just this once. _Please, Zak, don't be... dead._ That was his final thought before his eyes felt heavy and they eventually shut.

"Goodnight, Zak," Darryl smiled lightly as he spoke, his voice barely audible.

 _Goodnight, Darryl._ He could almost hear it as if Zak was truly speaking beside him. Darryl drifted off into a slumber, his own body heat being the only thing to heat him along the way.  
  
  


Sunrise arrived surprisingly brisk for Darryl. He reckoned it was because of the gaining coolness in the atmosphere. His body was a bit moist, most likely because of melting snow. Darryl's eyes fluttered open at the iridescent light glistening through his eyelids. The sun was gleaming through open holes in the clouds, but the air around him felt as if the sun wasn't there at all. The snow was falling down lightly from the sky.

He sat up rapidly, suddenly acknowledging that it was a new day. A new day indicated that he had to determine whether to stay or go. Either way, he'd have to leave Zak behind. He couldn't carry him back to Clay's -- it was too far. He couldn't bring Zak with him to Florida. Certainly not. Florida was _way_ farther. That infers that Zak would have to be buried _here_. In the middle of nowhere.

So Darryl got to work. He made sure to get rid of the food on Zak initially. He didn't want some varmint digging Zak up, even though it was relatively plausible already. Darryl reached into Zak's coat pocket, the leftmost one, and took out a pocket-sized journal. The cover was made from a light brown leather, eaten away by icy climates. The corners of the journal were peeling, but it nonetheless appeared generally decent. The journal was bound together by a leather strip, the exact variety as the cover. Darryl analyzed the journal a bit further.

He skimmed through the cream-coated pages. The paper felt smooth on his fingers. One page, however, was familiar to him. It informed him about melting snow in handwriting that Darryl knew he'd seen before. But it was primarily the writing that was familiar to him. It was the journal that he had found on the day after the crash. Zak had held it all this time.

Darryl noticed halfway that the complexion of ink and penmanship had altered. Who else had written in this? Zak? Darryl reached in Zak's pocket again and found a pen of the equivalent color of that of the writing -- blue. Fragile flakes of snow settled on the paper he was currently examining, the one that Zak wrote. There were a few pages with Zak's writing on it. They informed him about particular occurrences and discoveries that he and Darryl had gone through along their trip. Darryl chuckled lightly to himself as he read one of the pages. It read about the hydro-electric dam. After he finished reading the paper, he remembered that he had a responsibility to perform. Not a fun one, at that, but more a crucial one.

Darryl slipped the worn journal and blue pen into his coat pocket.  
  
  


Shortly Zak was ready to be laid to rest with the hole dug and just an hour left of daylight. The hole prevailed in a clearing with forget-me-nots engulfing the region. Trees encircled the clearing like a tall, protective border. It was perfect.

The entire doing was almost unbearable for Darryl. Why did Zak have to go? Why did Zak have to leave him?

Once the final heap of dirt and snow was scooped onto the grave, Darryl wiped the sweat that had formed on his forehead. He couldn't part with Zak just yet, however. He wasn't prepared, anyway.

Darryl scanned his surroundings for the nicest of the blue and purple blossoms. He found the bluest one of the lot and carried it back to Zak's burial. He knelt down to the ground and gently sat the blue flower on the grave. Light snow shuffled through the bare trees and landed lightly all over the clearing. A pleasant breeze swept through the trees.

"Zak," Darryl cleared his throat as a lump advanced in it, "Zak. You were, uh, my best friend. You were... amazing. You always found a way through the hard times. You were always there for me. Even though you've done a lot for me in these past few weeks, do one more. Please."

Darryl sniffed and wiped at the tear that trickled from his eye. "Please... don't be dead. Please." Darryl couldn't help the warm tears streaming down his face. They scorched where they trailed due to the immediate change in temperature. He knew what he had wanted was impossible, but he nonetheless had hope.

"I'll continue on the journey. For you," Darryl stood up from his crouching stance.

"Goodbye, my friend." Darryl turned around at that and sauntered out of the clearing into the wilderness.

Once Darryl finished cleaning up their campsite, he packed up his backpack and walked off into the snowy terrain, the sunset projecting orange light onto the white, sparkly snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at baroquedesert73 on Tumblr or my email: baroquedesert73@gmail.com


	2. Nothing Will Stop The Journey

**Chapter 2 - Nothing Will Stop the Journey**  
  
  


Darryl never thought that walking constantly could be so weary. When he was with Zak, it wasn't that dreadful. That's likely because they took a lot of breaks. Now Darryl doesn't take any breaks. He certainly doesn't want to go on this lengthy expedition, but he does it anyway. For the sake of Zak. It's his obligation to him.

It's been a total of two days, so far, since Zak... left. He was still nowhere close to warmer climates. Sometimes he thinks that he hasn't moved at all.

The initial day was rather interesting. He walked for the majority of the day, then he set up camp along a rushing river. He was a bit concerned that a bear might show up and steal his place, but he was persistent.

The sun was not yet hidden below the horizon. The sun cast endless warm colors onto the landscape. The water rushed and splashed over rocks and other debris that was in its way, continuing its journey south.

Water splashed out onto Darryl's face, water droplets making a home on his glasses as he watched the rushing stream. As he wiped his glasses off on his coat, he noticed something moving in the stream. It was only a blur to him, however. There were multiple of them, though. Darryl slid his glasses in place on the bridge of his nose and peered into the icy blue. Trout flopped out of the water, splattering droplets of water everywhere. Darryl's stomach threw a fit as he watched the potential food.

A stick drifted into Darryl's view. He had an idea. Darryl reached for the floating stick. He had almost fallen in the freezing water in his attempt in doing so, but he managed to bring the stick safely back to shore.

It was surprisingly sturdy, for driftwood. Driftwood usually snaps in half or disintegrates with even the smallest amount of force. This stick must've only fallen in lately.

Darryl used the amount of time the sun was still up to improve the stick for his idea. He shaved the moderately sturdy end of the stick, forming it into a sharp point. He pricked his index finger on the point to be sure. He made sure to save the shavings for later. They could be useful in making a fire. Darryl tied a bit of rope on the end of the stick and the opposite side around his wrist so he wouldn't lose it, reminiscent of a Wii remote.

It was now twilight. The sun was below the horizon, but it was not yet dark. There was no need for a fire or flashlight yet. The stars were starting to come out from hiding and embrace their brightness.

Darryl had to make do with what little light he had left. Trout still flopped around in the river, to Darryl's luck. On his first throw, he missed, not to his surprise. He's never done this before. Heck, he's never really even fished before. It never interested him in his youth.

On Darryl's second throw, he hit a trout. As he pulled it in, however, it got away. Darryl groaned in annoyance. "Just let me get you!" Darryl threw the stick again, intending on getting the fish this time. The sharp stick lodged itself into the trout deeply. He got the fish. Darryl pulled in the fresh, still flopping, trout and laid it, along with the stick, next to his unmade campfire. He was too busy to realize how cold he was. He was too busy with being hungry.

Darryl piled a few sticks that had been lying around where his campsite was set up onto his makeshift campfire. He had dug out the snow and lined rocks around it when the whole site was being set up.

Darryl used the shavings of the stick he carved as a fire starter. Once it was lit, the fire spread to the sticks and it gained strength and warmth. Darryl warmed himself by the fire, but not until after he set the trout up to cook. He did not know how to gut a fish nor was there a page in the journal about it. He just stabbed the opposite end of the stick into the ground at an angle with the fish on it. That way the fish was hanging over the fire just right. After a few minutes or so the fish would be finished cooking on one side, so he'd have to flip it.

Darryl took this time to pull out the journal. Not to read it, but to write in it. He wrote about how to get river trout with the items that nature gave you, just as he.

_"Find a long stick. Make sure it's not too thin or thick. Make sure it's not too brittle. Carve the stronger end of the stick into a fine point, akin to a spear. (Optional): tie one end of the stick with rope or twine so you don't lose the stick when it gets thrown."_

Once Darryl was finished and happy with his writing, it was time for him to flip the fish so his stomach would soon be happy as well.

Soon the trout was finished cooking. It had a brown, toasted tint to it. Darryl wondered which part to eat. He didn't have any utensils except for his pocket knife. He took a guess and cut into its middle. Steam emerged from where it was trapped when Darryl cut into the fish. He knew that wild fish could be dangerous to eat, due to contaminants, but he doesn't have any further options. It's either starving to death or this.

Darryl nibbled off some of the fish and his eyes lit up. It tasted of, well, fish! He realized that he hasn't had real, cooked food in a while. He went to bed happy that night. The embers slowly faded away as he drifted off into sleep.  
  
  


Darryl woke up early the next morning and packed up camp. The sky was a bit purple but the stars didn't show. He wanted to make the most of this day by walking. Even though that's _all_ he's been doing ever since he crash-landed in this damn place. At least _before_ he had someone to go through this with. No. He won't think about Zak. He doesn't want to have a mental break-down when he has a whole day ahead of him... of walking. Even though he's due to have one someday. He just doesn't have the time right now to sit and think about his life choices.

Nothing really interesting happened while he ventured that day. He didn't see any wolves or bears, surprisingly. Usually, that's _all_ he sees. He was glad, though. With no animals to attack him, he didn't have to avoid them by taking detours or sneaking around them. It was much easier.

The snow wasn't that deep on the ground, luckily. However, snow still fell lightly. A blanket of gray clouds stretched across the sky. Darryl longed for the shining sun. It hasn't shone in a while. It brought warmth where there was none.

Bare trees rustled with the oncoming chilling breeze. The snow fell in compliance with the wind, at a slight angle, and descending at an accelerated speed. It was going to storm hard tonight; Darryl knew it. It's been at most a week or so since the last blizzard. The last one happened when Zak was resting at Clay's after the bear attack. Even though it only _has_ been around a week, to Darryl it felt like forever. To Darryl, it felt like forever since he saw Zak's smiling face. He was so carefree even in the darkest times. Darryl let a sigh escape from his lips. Even that needed a lot of effort put into it.

Instead of setting up camp before the storm came, Darryl continued on. It wasn't for the best, but Darryl decided on it. He needed to continue. Nothing would stop him. Nothing would hold him back. He would break through this blizzard. For Zak.

"For Zak." Darryl glared up at the sky as if to tell the storm _'You can't stop me.'_ before trudging off into the weary fog.

The clouds gradually got darker and the wind proceeded to pick up. Snowflakes accelerated rapidly to the ground equivalent to torpedoes. Small piles of snow formed on the more flat surfaces of Darryl's body, like his shoulders and the top of his head. He couldn't see but a few feet in front of him. Snow started to feel less like fluff and more horribly equal to tiny, but sharp needles poking at his skin.

Even though the environment was slowing him, he proceeded. But he knew, however, that the blizzard might indeed bring him misery and slow, painful death. Firstly he thought that it wouldn't be that horrible, in fact. After all, his companion had just died and he didn't think he would be capable of completing this journey on his own. Darryl noticed a darker color appear in all of the cold whiteness. He glanced back and forth between the mysterious object and the road ahead. It wouldn't hurt to check it out.

As Darryl got closer to the dark shape, it became more and more visible. It was an old, wooded cabin. Darryl remembered his motivation then: Zak. Zak wouldn't have wanted Darryl to slowly die in the coldness. He would've wanted Darryl to continue on this journey even though he wasn't there.

Darryl looked at the old cabin, his eyes sparkling with determination. The door of the old cabin was off its hinges, only leaning on the door frame. Once he got inside, he laid the door back in place.

The inside smelled horrible. Dust coated a small table in the far-right corner. There was a dead man in the chair pulled up to it. Darryl gasped and suddenly felt uncomfortable. He crept up further to the table. The man's face was pale and empty and had a hole in the back of his head as he got shot. Dried blood still was in the small hole. The man was slightly leaning over the table, a pen resting in his hand over a note.

Darryl picked up the note and unfolded it. There were blood droplets on the paper, most likely from the dead man. There were also spots on the paper where the writing and the paper were disturbed. It was like water had dropped onto the paper. But there were no leaks in the cabin that Darryl had seen. There was not any water on the table. Had the man been crying? His eyes scanned over the handwritten note. The handwriting was a bit shaky.

_"Lucy,_

_If you have found this, I am long gone by now. Ever since the lights went out, I started running out of supplies. Food is scarce in these woods and wolves are increasingly aggressive. I got attacked by one after hunting and it stole my rabbit. I am heading south. Wish me luck._

_-Gary."_

"Poor guy." Darryl set the note back in place. What confused Darryl about this is why the man had been crying. There was nothing to cry about in this note. Plus, who shot the man? Darryl examined the rest of the room. There was a fireplace in the left corner, just opposite of the table. Charred logs sat in the fireplace. There was a stack of usable logs next to it, luckily. There was no gun in the room.

Darryl did not want to stay in that cabin, but there was no other way. There was a horrible blizzard outside. His only choice is to move the dead man out of the house. He couldn't stand the smell and he honestly just didn't want to stay in a house with a dead man.

Darryl grabbed the man under the arms and pulled him out of the chair and out into the blizzard. He laid the man just next to the house because he couldn't go far out into the storm. Once the man was on the ground, Darryl noticed that there was another piece of paper in his coat pocket, about to blow away with the wind. Darryl immediately grabbed it and rushed back inside, closing the door behind him.

He wasted no time in starting a fire. He had some fire kindle in his backpack which he used in helping the fire get started. Soon there was a warm fire in the fireplace. Except Darryl wasn't getting any warmer. He was wet. The snow that was resting on him from the blizzard must've melted, causing most of his clothes to be soaked. The only option was to take them off and hang them by the fire. So he did just that. First, he squeezed the water from his clothes then he hung them over the fire to dry.

Darryl sat down in front of the fire in just his underwear and opened the second note.

_"Lucy,_

_You need to get as far away from here as possible. They're after me, and countless other people as well. I don't know what I have done. Get out of here! Find the golden owl--"_

Darryl's eyes widened as the realization hit him. The writing was sloppy as if it was written in a hurry. This was the original note. Someone was out to kill him and probably forced him to write a fake note. Then they killed him. But what does he mean by the golden owl?

After about a minute of processing this information and staring off into the mesmerizing fire, Darryl realized that he was hungry. He hasn't had anything to eat or drink the whole day, but he knew that he had no food to fill his stomach. He might as well just drink something to at least quench his thirst for now.

Darryl pulled out his canteen and drank what little water he had left. There was only one way for him to get water right now. He'd have to melt snow. Thinking about even that made him think about Zak and their times together. Why did it have to end so fast? Now he didn't want to do it. It reminded him too much of his late friend.

Darryl looked around the small room. He noticed that there were cupboards opposite the door. There could be something in there for him to eat. Or there could be water. Darryl stood up from sitting and made his way over to one of the cabinets. There was nothing except bowls, plates, and pots. That sort of stuff.

Darryl sighed and grabbed a pot. "Might as well," Darryl mumbled, barely audible. He pushed the door out a bit and scooped snow into the pot. The blizzard was still going outside and the wind was howling. The freezing wind made its way into the old cabin through the small, open crack. The cold, harsh wind nipped at Darryl's bare skin. He quickly shut the door, already having enough snow to drink. That's a weird sentence.

Darryl carried the pot of snow over to the warming fire, which was gaining heat exponentially. Darryl gently sat the pot onto the burning wood. The snow melted fast, but that would make sense. Now Darryl has to wait ten minutes for the water to sanitize from the heat. Darryl used this time by pulling out the journal and attempting to draw a golden owl. Next to the illustration, he wrote question marks. He put the note in between the pages of the book. He didn't want to lose this note.

Darryl then thought about where he would be if Zak was still with him. He wondered if they would be further than he already was. Probably.

Darryl chuckled to himself as he thought about the splendid times they'd had together. The first time they saw the northern lights, or the Aurora Borealis, the time he and Zak had spent in the watchtower, the times when Darryl made rosehip tea for Zak when he wasn't feeling well.

Darryl smiled warmly. At least Zak doesn't have to go through this journey. He's saved from the troubles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at baroquedesert73 on Tumblr or my email: baroquedesert73@gmail.com


	3. Could It Be...

**Chapter 3 - Could It Be...**  
  
  


The snow wasn't unbearable the next day, surprisingly. Yes, it was seemingly tall, but Darryl was ready for it. With a good night's sleep and good, positive thoughts, he felt he was ready for anything. He was determined to get as far as he possibly could in a day. Nothing would stop him and he wouldn't get distracted. Definitely not.

After a few hours of walking, Darryl came upon a small town. Darryl smiled and walked onto the streets of the small, abandoned town. And he wasn't going to get distracted. Not. At. All.

 _I should look in some of these buildings for supplies. There could be something useful._ Darryl thought.

Damn it, Darryl.

Darryl clutched the straps of his backpack and his smile never faltered. He looked ahead with determination. He had a good feeling about this small town. He then made his way to the front door of the first building on his left. It was a concrete building, presumably a garage due to the massive garage doors. Obviously. But of course, the front door was locked. They always were. Darryl needed to find another way in. There could be useful stuff in there. Especially since it's a garage.

Darryl wasted no time relocating to the back. There was another door, thankfully. Darryl didn't even try to open the door due to the huge padlock. Just his luck. A thought ran through Darryl's mind that there was a possibility that the lock could be a fake one, a deception so no one goes inside the building. Darryl pulled on the lock, but it refused to budge. Looks like he wouldn't be getting in that building.

Darryl sighed and trudged up to the next one. The door was, surprisingly, unlocked. _Well I guess that makes up for it._ Darryl shrugged. He turned the door handle and pushed the door open. It was dusty inside, just like every other building he's encountered. Darryl was forced to pull out his flashlight, coerced by the dark. There was nothing in the main area, really. All the shelves where there would be lots of supplies were empty.

He assumed that there might not be anything in the building, but it wasn't worth _not_ checking out. The place must've been a shop of some sort, but was abandoned for some unknown reason, just like everything else. Why would a geomagnetic storm cause everyone to flee their homes? It just didn't make much sense to Darryl.

There was a cash register on the counter, but there was no use in taking the money. It was of no use to Darryl anymore. He could just take what he needed without a fret.

Darryl noticed someone's portrait hanging on one of the walls. She had hazel hair and green eyes. There was text underneath her portrait. 'Employee of the month, February 2020.'

Darryl saw something out of the corner of his eye. How did he not notice it earlier? There was a note on the counter. Darryl gently picked up the paper and blew the dust off of it. It read:

_"Samantha,_

_I'm heading south. I left you supplies in the safe. The code is 51 -- then the year I got employee of the month. Good luck and safe travels!_

_-Mary"_

It wouldn't be hard for Darryl to crack the code. After all, it's literally _right_ there. Darryl memorized the numbers in his head. _Ok, so it's... 51-20-20. Got it._

All Darryl needed to do now was find the damn safe. Wouldn't be hard, right? It had to be somewhere in the building, hopefully.

The first room Darryl decided to check was behind a white door. He presumed that it must've been the back room. He was correct. The walls were white painted brick, but parts of the paint chipped away near the bottom of the walls, showing the red, original brick color.

Shelves lined up on the wall on the right. Darryl couldn't help but rummage through them, searching for food.

The shelves had a few cans of beans and corn. Beans weren't of Darryl's liking, but it was better than nothing. He stuffed the canned food in his backpack and proceeded to look over the room.

The exact safe that he was looking for, or so he thought, sat in the corner of the room. Jackpot. Darryl smiled to himself as he approached the safe. He just hoped that no one else got to it first. He knelt down as he placed his hand on the turning knob. _Here we go._

Darryl turned the knob to where the number 51 lined up with the arrow. Next he lined up 20, then 20 again. He pushed the button on the knob and heard a _click_. He got it.

Darryl pulled open the safe's door and it swung open with ease. Darryl chuckled as he scanned over the contents of the safe. There were many useful items. There were painkillers, antibiotics, a few granola bars and... Darryl gasped as he grabbed the glorious weapon in his hands. His eyes scanned over the weapon as he brought it closer to him. Darryl's lips curled into a smile. No, it wasn't a crowbar, sadly, it was a pump-action shotgun! It was similar to Vincent's. Among the pill bottles were five shotgun shells. Not enough to fill the gun's magazine, but oh well. The stock and forestock (or fore-end) of the gun was made of polished wood, the rest of the parts were made of some sort of metal.

Darryl grabbed the shotgun shells and put them in his coat pocket. He'd have to get more shells if he sees them. Darryl then took off his backpack, unzipped it, and threw in the rest of the safe's contents.

Darryl smiled and stood up, still holding the shotgun in his hands. Too bad there was no strap for it. He'd have to keep a lookout for one along the way.

The next building was a house. There weren't many useful things in the house except for a crowbar. A crowbar! The best weapon (and tool) ever was in the garage of the house, sitting, waiting for someone to come along and pick it up. And that person was Darryl. He was finding the jackpot today. Lots of weapons and other stuff.

Darryl, sadly, didn't have any gun straps or holsters so he'd have to just keep the weapons in his backpack. Luckily, he had enough room for them. It's not like he'd have to carry a crowbar in his hands everywhere. He's not Gordon Freeman.

There wasn't anything useful in the next three houses. Most people have either taken everything with them or someone else did.

The only thing that confuses Darryl is how the people knew the geomagnetic storm was coming. Why the people evacuated even though wherever they were headed was going 'lights out' as well. What was there to run away from? They wouldn't be able to run away from this solar storm.

There was a library in this small town. Darryl kept his fingers crossed for a book or two on geomagnetic storms. He wanted to learn more about this solar event that left him confused. He searched for the non-fiction section and then books about geomagnetic storms.

To his luck, there were three. He sat down at a nearby table and got back to work reading.

An hour later, Darryl had the information he needed, all gathered from the three different books.

_"A geomagnetic storm, also called an electromagnetic storm, is a temporary disturbance of the Earth's magnetosphere caused by a solar wind shock wave and/or cloud of magnetic field that interacts with the Earth's magnetic field."_

_"The unconnected magnetic helical field and the material that it contains may violently expand outwards forming a coronal mass ejection. This also explains why solar flared typically erupt from active regions on the sun where magnetic fields are much stronger. Scientists are unable to forecast flares."_

Well this backs up Darryl's confusion. This means that _someone_ knew that the geomagnetic storm was going to happen, somehow. But the third book was what confused Darryl even more.

_"Given the right circumstance, one might be able to recreate this anomaly. Even though a man-made variant of this event would be much more dangerous and chaotic, it is possible. It can be accomplished by--"_

The rest of the page was ripped out. To be honest, Darryl didn't want to see what it was. But who took the page? Maybe it was someone who needed to know how to do it. These books left Darryl with more questions than answers. And after Darryl read that sentence, his eyes widened. "Could it be... could someone have done this to us all?" Darryl's breath hitched, "No, no! That's crazy! No one would do that... would they?"

Darryl closed the book and carried it outside. He set it on the ground in the middle of the road and pulled out his lighter from his pocket. The book needed to be burned.

The book set aflame quite easily despite the frigid air around it. Darryl felt something spark in him. He is not the man he used to be. This whole incident had changed him, whether he liked it or not.

All he knows is he's had enough of this. This whole thing had brought out a side of him he never knew he had. Until now. He needed to do something about this whole scenario. A new rage burned inside of him like the book he was staring at.

"I will avenge you, Zak."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at baroquedesert73 on Tumblr or my email: baroquedesert73@gmail.com


	4. Do Not Go Gentle

**Chapter 4 - Do Not Go Gentle**  
  
  


The air got colder and colder as the sun took cover behind the horizon. Darryl trembled in the cold as he trekked through the bare woodland. He knew it wasn't that safe to reside in the forest. There were a few miles of forest left to go, however, and there was no way around.

Darryl trudged one more long mile in the nearly full darkness. It was twilight, and little light lingered in the atmosphere. He chose to set up camp. It would be too risky to proceed in the nighttime. He wouldn't be able to see where he was going. Besides, dangerous creatures roam at night, scouring for prey. Darryl didn't want to be that.

He didn't want to end up like the people in the Dyatlov Pass incident if it was an accident or not. It was an incident in which nine Russian hikers perished in the northern Ural mountains. During the night, something prompted the hikers to rip their way out of their tent and flee the campsite, all while inadequately dressed for the heavy snowfall and sub-zero temperatures.

Soviet authorities determined that six had died from hypothermia while the other three showed signs of physical trauma. These people got found. However, if something of this manner we're to have happened to Darryl, he wouldn't be found. There's no one around for miles.

Darryl dug in the snow down to dirt and then looked around for sticks. Good thing he was in a forest. The unfortunate thing is that's the only thing forests are beneficial for to him: sticks. Forests are primarily a nuisance. You can't detect if someone or something is sneaking up on you.

Darryl lined up sticks and fire kindle in the pit and lit it with his lighter. The fire gradually got bigger and Darryl hurled in additional sticks. He pulled out the journal and settled down near the fire. He read from the journal a while. He read about how to create rope from grass, toxic and safe-to-eat berries, and how to make a slingshot.

The issues weren't that beneficial to Darryl at the moment, but they were an interesting read. The original guy that inhabited the journal and wrote it knew some decent stuff. Too bad he died.

While Darryl was reading up on _'Different shelters to make,'_ he heard a twig snap from someplace behind him. Damn these woods. You can never know where anything is. Every sound makes its way to echo off of every single tree, rendering it impossible to find out where the source lies.

Darryl, ever-so-silent, picked up the shotgun that was next to him and checked if it's chamber was full. It was--well, not really. It had the shells in it that Darryl had. He had five. He'd need two more for the chamber to be full. But even one shell will blow someone's face clean off.

Darryl stood up, on guard, and held his shotgun to face the ground. He didn't want to shoot anything he didn't want to by accident, even if it was on safety. It's known as proper gun handling.

Slowly and carefully, Darryl stepped away from the warmth and light of the burning flame. He flicked the safety off but still held the firearm pointing down.

It unexpectedly came from behind. Something lunged at him and knocked him to the ground, compelling him to lose his gun in the process. It was barely out of his arm's length.

Darryl reached for the gun with all his might. He couldn't get up. All of a sudden, whatever had attacked him, most likely a wolf, bit into his left arm. Darryl cried out in anguish as the wolf tore through his coat and then through his skin. He needed to get the shotgun in his hands. He reached, desperate for the gun. But he just couldn't attain it.

The wolf began to rip off more of his coat and into his back. His arm must've been truly bad as is, presumably razed to the bone. Hot tears gushed down his face. _I won't die! Not like this!_

Darryl remembered that he held his knife in his front-right jeans pocket. He forgot it was there because he hardly used it. He reached into his pocket and drew out the switchblade and clicked it open.

Darryl utilized all of his force to flip over and puncture the wolf in the chest, propelling it back a foot. But it wasn't enough to kill it. The wolf got right back on Darryl, desperate for food. Last Darryl knew, wolves seldom attacked humans. But as Vincent told him, wolves and bears are more brutal now that the geomagnetic storm has occurred.

Darryl glared at the wolf as it snarled at him. An abrupt resentment accumulated inside him. His arm, as if behaving on its own, balled into a fist and swung out and made a collision on the wolf's snout. It was stunned for merely a second before it got back up, angrier than ever. "Oh, no," Darryl scrambled back until his back hit a tree.

The wolf bared its teeth, growling. It made its way over to Darryl slowly, head lowered. Darryl glimpsed to his right. Luckily, his shotgun was right there. He promptly reached out for the shotgun and got a grip on the handle. He jerked the gun back to him and cocked it barely in time.

The wolf lunged at him just as he pulled the trigger, closing his eyes. All he heard was the wolf whimper before it was suddenly cut off. The sound of the blast rang through his ears. He didn't want to open his eyes. He didn't want to see what he'd done, even if it was the right thing to do. Even if it was self-defense, he felt guilty.

Darryl sat with his eyes closed, panting. His back was still against the tree. Once his heavy breathing had steadied to light breathing, he gradually opened his eyes. There, on his legs was the wolf. Half of its head was blown off and blood gushed out onto Darryl's legs.

"Oh, my goodness," Darryl keeled over and puked out what little things he'd eaten over the past few days. He sat his shotgun to the side and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

Darryl shoved the deceased wolf off of him and fell to the side. His hand was wrapped over his ripped-open arm. He struggled to stop the blood, but with only just his hand it didn't do much.

Darryl became drowsier by the second. He wasn't able to make it ten feet over to his campsite where his first aid kit was. He was exhausted.

"I think I'll just rest here, Zak. There's a big day ahead of us tomorrow," Darryl murmured, his speech slurring. He shut his eyes.

 _If you stay here, you'll die!_ Zak's voice rang out through Darryl's ears.

"There's nothing I can do about it. I'm just taking a quick nap, anyway." Darryl felt himself drift more and more away, further from consciousness.

_Darryl. Darryl! Darryl! DARRYL!_

And that was the final thing he heard.  
  
  


"Zak!" Darryl shot up out of bed, screaming. Wait... bed? He was panting and he was sweaty. All of a sudden he realized the rapid pain in his left arm and his back. Darryl sucked in air through gritted teeth as he gently laid back down. How was he alive? Most importantly, where _was_ he?

Darryl looked around for his glasses. He found them on the nightstand and put them on. He examined the room he was in. It was a fine room. The walls were painted an eggshell white. Rays of light shone through the translucent, white curtains. A small fire was lit in a stone fireplace. His backpack was in one of the corners. There were two doors in the room. One of them must be the exit.

Darryl deliberately got up, not wishing to unsettle his injuries. He first attempted the door on the left. It was only a bathroom. He was about to close the door but his reflection caught his eye. He stepped inside the poorly-lit room to inspect himself in the mirror. He hasn't seen his reflection in a long time. He hasn't seen it since.. well, before the flight.

Darryl sighed as he peered into the mirror. Dark circles were painted under his eyes. Light stubble formed on his chin and under his nose. He hadn't even noticed that he was growing a beard. He was wearing a white tank top and gray, flexible sweatpants. His arm was fastened in a bandage and he assumed that his torso was as well.

Darryl sighed. He's glad that someone found him.

As Darryl was about to leave the bathroom, he heard a door open. He reached into his pocket for his switchblade, only to find that it wasn't there. _Right, these people took my stuff._ Darryl grunted. He left the bathroom to see a grinning man. He looked like he was in his late 30s and his hair was starting to gray at the rims. The man brushed off the snow that had been collecting on his shoulders.

"Ah, good! You're awake!" The man's smile widened a fraction.

"Yeah..." Darryl was still a little bit skeptical, "who are you?"

"Come with me. You'll want to put on your coat and boots. It's cold out there, as always. You hungry?" The man's smile never faltered. He moreover didn't answer Darryl's question.

"A bit, yeah," Darryl looked around for his coat and his boots. The coat hung on a coat rack next to the door. To no surprise, his boots stood right at the bottom of the coat rack as well, next to the door.

Darryl grabbed both his boots and coat and put them on. When he stood up, the man was waiting for him at the door, his hand on the doorknob. Once he acknowledged that Darryl was ready, he opened the door. A frigid gust of wind seeped into the room.

Darryl made his way out of the small house and the man shortly pursued.

Darryl looked around. Fragile white specks fluttered down from the sky. For once, it was gorgeous. Before, Darryl just never noticed the elegance in the snow. For one, snow is a death trap. It may appear lovely and fun to play in, but slowly and surely it'll kill you. That's why Darryl prefers relaxing next to a fire or being inside a warm room.

Darryl didn't notice the man come up next to him.

"No one ever had the time to pay attention to the magnificence of nature before the Incident happened. Am I right?"

Darryl turned his gaze to the man. "Right. So, who are you?"

The man chuckled briefly. "My name is John. I live in this small town with 13 others. We all banded together and took refuge in this abandoned town after the Incident. I was the one that had the most sense, so they appointed me as their leader. Follow me."

Darryl just followed John. He seemed peaceful. Darryl didn't see him as an adversary. After all, John had saved his life. Without his aid, Darryl certainly would've died.

John chatted about his comrades and what they all do. Each individual has a job. There's the builders, the medic, the hunters and gatherers, the butcher who is also a cook, and the person that keeps everyone on track. Everyone knows how to properly and safely use a firearm. Everyone has a schedule for when they patrol to keep out trespassers. They're pretty much civilized.

"There's someone you'll have to meet. He's the one that found you and took you back to the medic safely. Meet Simon." They both arrived upon a man in his mid-twenties. Stress lines on his forehead implied that he'd been through a lot. Darryl smiled lightly and held his hand out to shake.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Darryl." Darryl conversed. Simon took his hand and shook lightly. He nodded.

"Food's just about ready. Go ahead and sit down." Simon announced to both John and Darryl. As Darryl sat down across from John, he noticed the massive pot over a fire. His nose filled up with the aroma of cooked meat and spices.

"Once I finish eating, can you point me south? I _really_ need to get a move on." Darryl really needed to get as far as he could for the day.

"No, no! You should stay! It's getting dark and your wounds are still healing," John appeared worried.

"Well... I guess I could. You make some good points as well." Darryl shrugged. John chuckled.

Momentarily their bowls were distributed to them by Simon. More people filled up the additional tables and bowls were given to them as well. Not without greeting John, first.

Once Darryl got his bowl and spoon, he almost instantly dug in. It was a meat stew. It had some sort of meat, along with carrots, celery, and potatoes. It was savory. Except for one thing.

"What meat is this?" Darryl asked after he swallowed a spoonful of the soup.

"Steak," John announced flatly.

"Are you sure?" Darryl knew this wasn't steak. It was too stringy to be steak.

"It's steak. You just probably can't remember what steak really tastes like. When have you last eaten steak?" John didn't look up from his bowl.

"... Good point." Darryl shrugged and finished off his bowl relatively quickly.

"Seconds for Darryl!" John called to Simon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at baroquedesert73 on Tumblr or my email: baroquedesert73@gmail.com


	5. They Are Not What They Seem

**Chapter 5 - They Are Not What They Seem**  
  
  


After Darryl finished off three bowls of stew--neither John nor Simon minded how much he ate; they must have an abundant supply of meats--, he decided to explore the town a bit. John went on his obligations as the leader, deciding who would patrol what for the following week.

It was nice being with actual people again, to breathe the same air as another. It was nice to see a _group_ of people again. Actual, civilized people. He passed by a few people relaxing, drinking, and laughing together. Darryl smiled softly to himself. He wished that Zak was still around. He then directed his interest to the road ahead. The snow had already ceased long ago and the sun had set. All of the buildings around him were lit up inside. All except for one.

Darryl paced up to that building. He had an unusual suspicion lurking in his gut. He needed to see what this building was about.

Darryl put his hand on the doorknob once he got to it and looked around. He turned the knob and started to open it, but it was slammed shut by a hand before Darryl could see what lay inside. His first instinct was to jump back.

It was from Simon. Simon glowered at him, eyes full of unexplained rage.

"Simon?" Darryl's eyes were still wide from the slam.

Simon pointed a finger at Darryl like he was scolding a child. His other hand was still on the door.

"Do _not_ go in there again. John won't hear about this... unless I catch you going in there again. Do you understand?" Simon growled. Darryl's eyes widened and he shook his head rapidly. "Go back to your quarters. Don't make me have to escort you." He pulled back his coat a bit, revealing an assault rifle. Darryl nodded even faster and hurried back to his temporary room.

 _What was that about? Why is Simon so secretive? Most of all, what the heck is in that room?!_ Darryl thought as he made his way back to his room.  
  
  


The next morning, Darryl woke up to the sound of someone knocking on his door. Darryl sat up and rubbed his eyes. His hand reached over and grabbed his glasses on the nightstand. Darryl was surprised at how good of condition they were in. Not even a single scratch disturbed the glass lens. He hopes they will stay that way.

"I'm coming!" Darryl yelled sleepily. He brushed the blankets off his legs. He swung his legs over the bed. He shuffled over to the front door, his eyes heavy with sleepiness. He grabbed his coat and slung it over his shoulders and put his arms through the holes.

Darryl put his hand on the doorknob and turned, pulling the door towards him to open it. John was on the other side, smiling as always.

"Hey, Darryl! Breakfast is about ready. Come with me if you wanna get some." John informed him.

Darryl blinked. "Yeah, yeah. Just... wait a second. I have to get my shoes on." Darryl shut the door and did what he had to do.

John was looking around when Darryl opened the door again. Darryl had an urge to ask John about the building, but Simon's warning was still stuck with him. If Simon was that mad about the building, Darryl couldn't imagine how John would be.

"I'm ready." Darryl stepped outside and closed the door behind him gently.

"Great! Let's get a move on, then." John walked down the few steps that lead up to Darryl's door. Darryl followed.

"So, how was your second night here?" John broke the silence.

"It was great." That was a lie. Simon had scared the shit out of him last night. It's stuck with him. He was barely able to sleep. But it was also because Darryl wanted to see what was in that building so badly. Maybe these people aren't what they seem. Maybe Darryl is going to get murdered overnight, in his sleep. But Darryl continued, getting closer and closer to the eating area. Or whatever it's called.

"Good morning, Simon!" John clapped Simon on the shoulder. Simon was where he was the day before, cooking whatever was for breakfast. Darryl sat across from John, glaring needles into Simon's turned back.

"No greeting from you, Darryl?" Now Simon was just messing with him. What is wrong with this guy?

"Show a bit of respect, Darryl! He has a right not to serve you, after all." John scolded.

Maybe John was right. Maybe Darryl was just being flat-out rude.

"Good morning," Darryl said begrudgingly through his gritted teeth.

"What was that? Sorry, I couldn't hear you." Simon turned around and smirked.

"Good. Morning." Darryl spoke a bit louder and harsher this time.

"Thank you." Simon turned to face the pot he was cooking in.

Darryl laced his fingers together on the table and bounced his knee. More people that he recognized from yesterday sat down at the other tables.

After a few minutes, Simon handed them their bowls. It was steak stew. Again. Darryl didn't complain, though he wanted to, and ate his food.

When he was finished, John insisted on another bowl. Darryl declined politely. He had something he needed to do now that everyone was busy. He needed to find out what was in that building.

Darryl excused himself, saying that he had to use the restroom. Once Darryl was out of sight from everyone else, he made a beeline for the building. He needed to do this quickly.

Darryl looked around to see if anyone was near him, watching him. Luckily, there was no one around. He briskly got inside and closed the door gently behind him. It smelled horrible in there. It smelled like death and rotting meat. Darryl gagged.

Darryl took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and turned around to face whatever horrid thing was in there.

 _It can't be that bad, right?_ Darryl thought. He tried to convince himself. But when he opened his eyes and saw it all, all of his convincing suddenly vanished.

"Oh, my goodness," Darryl started to breathe harder and faster, "oh, my goodness."

People hung from the ceiling by their feel, their lifeless eyes reminding him of the thing he wanted to forget. One of them had a huge gash running from top to bottom of their torso. Inside was... nothing. The person's guts lay right under them in a pile. Darryl wanted to puke.

To his right was a butcher block. Is this what they've been feeding him this whole time? His own species? Darryl's hyperventilating didn't get any better, however. Why would it?

He realized that if he'd stay any longer--not just in this building, but this place in general--he'd end up hanging with his guts and organs on the floor, just like these unlucky few.

Darryl needed to act normal until he got out of this town, though. He quickly left the building and walked as far away from it as possible. He soon made it back to his quarters and wrote in the journal: _Do not trust anyone._

He refused to eat the meals they served for the rest of the day. He claimed that he 'wasn't hungry.'  
  
  


Darryl went to sleep that night with one eye open. He kept his shotgun on his bedside table and his crowbar next to him. He didn't plan on being murdered in his sleep.

He knew he'd have to keep a low profile from now on. They can't know that he found out their favorite food to eat. He also needed to get out of there as humanly possible.

The next morning, Darryl packed his backpack. He planned on getting out of that stupid town today. When he opened the door, John was waiting with his usual smile plastered on his face. Except now it had a different meaning to Darryl than being happy.

 _Good, so he doesn't know._ Darryl though.

"Since it's your last day here, we made you something special for breakfast. Veggie soup!" John smiled warmly. Finally, something good to eat.

"Sure!" Darryl smiled and walked with John to where they ate. Simon handed them their bowls once they sat down.

"Go ahead, try it!" John chuckled. Darryl ate a spoonful. It was surprisingly good. Darryl slurped down the rest of the bowl. Then he realized that John hadn't eaten any of his food. John's smile was gone and his expression was cold and distant.

Darryl's eyes widened as he started to feel a bit dizzy. "What did you do to me?" Darryl slurred.

"You should've listened to the warning," John said, voice monotone.

Then everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at baroquedesert73 on Tumblr or my email: baroquedesert73@gmail.com


	6. The Things You Do For Survival

**Chapter 6 - The Things You Do For Survival**  
  
  


Darryl's eyes fluttered open. He was extremely light-headed. Once he came to his senses, he knew why. He was hanging by his feet from the ceiling. He knew this would've happened eventually. He should've just left earlier. Now he's stuck in this mess.

He looked around. The butcher block had straps on it, most likely used for strapping people down. Oh. There was also a cleaver on the butcher block.

Darryl tried to reach into his back pocket for his switchblade, but his hands wouldn't move past a certain limit. Darryl sighed. His hands were bound.

Just as he was about to try something else, the door opened. Darryl snapped his head up to see who it was. It was John, the bastard, with a sinister smile plastered on his face. Simon entered soon after.

"Cut him down," John smirked evilly.

Simon pulled out a pocket knife, opened it, and walked over to Darryl. He sawed at the rope that kept Darryl hanging. Darryl fell and landed harshly on the concrete ground. He grunted as he felt his skin scrape against the rough ground. Darryl didn't have much time to react to the situation because Simon grabbed him by the arms and heaved him onto his feet. "What are you doing to me?!" Darryl screamed.

"This is what you get for not leaving it alone," John stated, his face now an emotionless void. Darryl was thrown onto the butcher block after Simon grabbed the cleaver.

"Tie him up," John said.

"No! Let me go!" Darryl yelled as he struggled against Simon's grip. Simon shoved Darryl onto the butcher block after he unbounded his hands. Darryl wasn't able to fight back. Simon got to work on tying one of Darryl's hands up to one of the sides of the block.

"Shut him up!" John yelled.

"Yessir." Simon put his hand over Darryl's mouth as he finished tying up one hand. John turned around and left the building, trusting Simon to do whatever it is he was trying to do. He was most likely trying to cut him up into chunks. Alive.

Darryl got the sudden idea to bite Simon's hand. So that's what he did. Darryl clamped his mouth over Simon's fingers and bit down hard. Soon his teeth met again and Simon's blood-curdling scream filled his ears. Darryl spit out the severed fingers. The putrid taste of blood filled in his mouth. He grimaced, but only for a second.

Simon had dropped the cleaver on the butcher block. Darryl grabbed it with his free hand. While Simon was balled up on the ground, clutching his bleeding hand, Darryl untied the rope on his wrist.

As soon as Simon realized what he was doing, he got up, flicked open his pocket knife, and charged at Darryl with a scream.

Darryl leaped off the butcher block and out of the way before the knife could embed in his skin. He got in a stance, ready to fight. The cleaver was in his sweaty hand. Darryl panted and wiped the sweat off of his forehead.

Simon turned around again and charged at Darryl again. "Get back here, you little shit!" Simon grabbed the knife forwards, but Darryl ducked barely in time to avoid it. Darryl let the rage and adrenaline overwhelm and take over him. He was blinded by rage.

Before Simon could retaliate, Darryl swung the cleaver as hard as he could into the side of Simon's neck. He did it again. And again. Simon fell to the ground, gurgling due to the blood that had filled up his throat.

Darryl panted heavily as he glared down at Simon. Blood was splattered on his face. His face was scrunched up in pure anger, but it soon softened and twisted into a frown.

"No. No, no, no, no, no!" Darryl dropped the cleaver and looked at his shaking hands with wide, scared eyes. "I'm a... I'm a... a murderer," Darryl whispered, his voice barely audible. He never thought that his journey would have to come to this. He knew that it was self-defense and he did what he had to do, but his mind said otherwise.

He would stay and sulk, but he really needed to move on and get out of there.

Darryl grabbed the blood-soaked cleaver and ran to the door. He opened the door a tad bit and looked around. Once he saw that there was no one around, he sprinted out towards the room he had been staying in. It wasn't that far.

There was no one around. It must be lunch. Darryl didn't know what time it was. The clouds covered up any trace of the sun, which was his usual clock.

As Darryl sprinted towards his room, the wind picked up and snow started to fall. Fog gathered, blocking most of Darryl's view. Darryl could only see a few feet in front of him. At least he had the sense of direction of where the room was.

Darryl soon made it to the door. He quickly turned the doorknob, panting, scared for his life. Once he made it inside, he grabbed his bag that he had packed that morning. He quickly swung it over his shoulders and grabbed his shotgun. Four shots left.

Darryl didn't need the cleaver anymore, so he dropped it. He left the building without haste and ran along the road. He'd eventually make it out.

He felt like he was running for forever until he made it to a tall chainlink fence. He started to climb it. He was almost to the top when someone grabbed him by his leg and pulled him to the ground. Darryl felt like he was falling in slow motion. But soon his back hit the hard ground. Turns out that snow isn't that great as a cushion. The wind got knocked out of him. Darryl grunted and looked around. John stood over him, a hunting rifle in his hands. Darryl couldn't get up.

"You thought you could get away, you shit? You fucking killed Simon!" John screamed and kicked Darryl in the side. Darryl screamed in pain and curled over. John kicked him again.

"We fed you and gave you someplace to live and this is how you repay us? You disobey us and kill Simon?" John kicked again.

"You tried to fucking kill me!" Darryl screamed without thinking. His eyes widened as he realized what he just said. He said the f-word. Also, he knew that that would earn him another kick.

"Ha! I didn't think you had the guts to even say that word!" John kicked.

This time, Darryl had enough. His ribs ached and he could swear that he broke all of them. He put his hands underneath him and pushed. John kicked him again, which caused him to roll a few feet away. Yep. Definitely broken ribs.

Even though it hurt, Darryl still tried to get up. This time he succeeded in doing so, but it caused a lot of pain.

He quickly grabbed his shotgun from where it sat in his bag, but John had his rifle already locked on him. Darryl jumped to the side. He knew what was coming. He barely dodged the first bullet that John shot. Darryl aimed his shotgun at John and pulled the trigger as he reloaded his rifle.

Darryl pulled the trigger after pumping his shotgun. He really didn't have much time to aim, but he fired the shot anyway. Darryl looked up to see the damage he'd caused. He knew it was a lot already due to the sound of John screaming out in pain. Most of his leg was blown off. He shifted his weight to his good leg and, despite all of the pain, aimed his rifle.

All Darryl had to do was cock his gun and shoot again, but he acted too late. John pulled his rifle's trigger and the bullet flew into Darryl's lower-right abdomen. He screamed in pain and clutched the wound where blood started to pool out, almost dropping his shotgun in the process. He started to taste blood in his mouth. This was bad.

Even though Darryl lost his shooting arm due to clutching his wound, he still pulled through. He held his shotgun in his left hand and aimed it at John while he struggled to find bullets. The weapon sway was unbearable, and the weight of the weapon was almost too heavy for only his left, non-dominant hand. His arm injury ached as he struggled to keep the heavy weight pointing where it needed to.

Darryl aimed the best he could in the few seconds he had, ready for anything. Tears and sweat from earlier blurred his vision, but he didn't stop to wipe them. There was no time now.

_Here we go..._

With that, he pulled the trigger. He didn't want to see the outcome of the nasty blast, but he looked anyway. John was on the ground, laying in blood-stained snow. His chest was blown open, and Darryl could see his ribcage and the organs hiding underneath. It was horrible to look at. He felt like puking. Darryl's face twisted from fear to anger. His eye twitched as he stood there over John.

"You get what you deserve." Darryl spat. His eyes drifted to the unharmed hunting rifle in his hand. Darryl bent down and picked the weapon up. Rifles are extremely powerful, but take a long time to reload.

Darryl skimmed his eyes over the half-loaded weapon. It was mostly wood, and it had a leather strap connected to it. That'll come in handy. But he just wished that he had a weapon holster for it. He slung the gun over his good shoulder once he heard the commotion of the cannibals in the distance.

Darryl limped up to the fence, still clutching his side, and somehow managed to climb it. He limped off into the snow, trying his best not to leave a blood trail. But oh well, the falling snow will pile over it and his footsteps. He just hoped that he was heading in the right direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at baroquedesert73 on Tumblr or my email: baroquedesert73@gmail.com


	7. Where They Were Going

**Chapter 7 - Where They Were Going**  
  
  


A fire crackled and flowed graciously in the cold, night air. Orange and yellow projected onto the nearby ground and on Darryl. The heat was, well, hot, but it wasn't overbearing.

Next to the fire was a chunk of deer meat. He was lucky to get such a big catch, but he wasn't able to eat it all. At least he would be full for the night.

He thought about saving the hid for further use, but he brushed the idea off. It would be too heavy to carry and he didn't know what to do with it.

Darryl faced the clear, night sky. No northern lights today. He longed for them. The northern lights helped him find solace when he wasn't finding any. Mostly, the northern lights just reminded him of Zak. All Darryl wanted was to see Zak again. To feel and breathe the same air as Zak again. He'd just hoped that this was all just some wild fever dream. But it all felt too real for that to be true.

The crackling of the fire hushed and the air around Darryl grew cooler. This was a signal to Darryl that his food was done cooking.

After a minute or so, Darryl picked up the piece of meat. He'd wanted to make sure that it was cooled down enough before he picked it up. He didn't want to burn his poor fingers. A nice meal would help heal his bullet wound.

It's been a few days since... the cannibals. Once he'd gotten far enough away from that horrible town, he sat down and extracted the bullet. He'd tried his best with that, and the stitching as well. He had dressed the wound after that and rested next to an enjoyable, warm fire.

He's had recurring nightmares since that event. The nightmares most likely reflected off of his fear, anxiety, and guilt. He had killed two people. He wondered what Zak would think. If he was still around. But the people that he had killed deserved it, he'd admit. He still couldn't shake the feeling that he had. He knew that maybe someday his actions would come back to haunt him. He would dread that day until it came. Even though he tried his best not to dwell on it.

Darryl finished eating his piece of cooked meat. It was cooked medium-rare, just how he liked it. It wasn't too hot, nor too cold. And since the fire was now just slow-burning embers, it brought the warmth back to him.

Darryl shifted to a laying position in his sleeping bag. His side felt just like how it first felt just like how it felt when the bullet first had pierced his skin. It hadn't gotten any better in those few days it was supposed to be healing.

Darryl sat back up again but soon regretted it, the pain ripping through his body. Even if he had to. He needed to check on his wound. He had forgotten to take antibiotics when he first wrapped the wound, so it might be infected. Hopefully not.

Darryl sucked in air as he lifted his shirt and undressed the wound, the pain gaining. Frigid air pricked at his bare skin.

The wound looked nasty. Some sort of clear, viscous liquid oozed our of the space in-between the poorly-stitched stitches. Darryl's face twisted in disgust. He should've taken the antibiotics before.

Darryl grabbed his backpack that was lying near him. He unzipped the pocket where his first aid kit was and then opened that. He dug around, looking for the bottle but he couldn't find it anywhere.

 _What the heck?_ Darryl's face scrunched up in confusion. He closed up his first aid kit and rummaged through his backpack. Luckily, he soon found it under a bit of fire kindling. He sighed a sigh of relief. He opened the small, white bottle and dabbed it on his hand. A pill came out and Darryl popped it into his mouth. He closed the lid and swallowed, the pill barely going down his throat.

He would drink water to help it go down, but he happened to be running short on that. He had hoped that he would come upon a stream, or even a lake, soon. It was way more hygienic and safe to drink from running water than still water. Except he really needed water soon, so right now he'd take anything.

Darryl sighed. He took the first aid kit back out and began to redress his wounds with the white cloth, careful not to irritate it. His bullet wound already hurt enough as is.

Once he was finished, he put everything back in place and gently laid down. He wrapped up in the sleeping bag and closed his eyes. He dreaded going to sleep due to the distressing nightmares, but he forced himself to push through and suck it up. He knew that the nightmare would be bad, but he'd deal with it later.

Minutes later, he was fast asleep. The embers in the fire no longer gave off any warmth or light.  
  
  


He was in a field of glistening, white snow. He could see his breath in front of his face, just as always. _Where am I?_ He thought. Darryl looked down to see a severed head in his hands. Darryl let out a short scream, intent on letting the head go, but it wouldn't budge. He looked at the face. It was Simon's. His face was extremely blue and pale. His eyes were lifeless. Simon's eyes looked up at Darryl and glared up at him. Not so lifeless now.

"You did this to me. Murderer! You killed me in cold blood!" Simon screamed.

"No! No!" Darryl finally managed to drop the head and he ran away without looking back. He managed to run for a while, but eventually, he found himself in a building. He panted hard and his eyes were wide.

Darryl looked at the floor, his hand resting on his heart. All of a sudden, blood seeped into view and puddled at Darryl's feet. He gasped and looked up. His heart proceeded to beat faster and faster in fear.

People hung from the ceiling by their feet. He recognized this building. The worst part is, he recognized the people. They were in the group with John and Simon. Darryl heeded that these people truly could've been innocent people who accidentally stumbled right into the heart of the cannibals' lair. They probably joined John, unsuspecting everything that was actually going on. They most likely never noticed anything wrong with the rancid food that Simon was feeding them.

Each person that hung had their stomachs cut open and their guts and organs piled up underneath them.

From his right, Darryl heard a familiar voice speak. "Darryl?" He snapped his head to face the speaker, eyes opening wider with shock. It was Zak. He had dark circles under his eyes and had a scared expression on his face.

"Z--!" Darryl started, his lips forming into a smile, but was suddenly interrupted.

"Darryl... why would you do this? Why?" Zak was on the brink of tears.

"But... but I didn't do this!" Darryl frowned. Suddenly, he felt a weight in his hand. Instinctively, he looked down. _He_ was the one holding the bloody sickle. _What?_

When he looked up, Zak had a sinister look plastered across his face.

" _You_ murdered them! _You_ did it! Just like _you_ murdered Simon and John! Murderer!" Zak pointed an accusatory finger at Darryl as he screamed.

The heads of the hanging bodies twisted and they all started to chant.

"Murderer! Murderer! Murderer! Murderer!" The people, impossibly, chanted.

Darryl dropped the sickle, which made a clanking sound when it hit the floor. Darryl quickly covered his ringing ears with his hands and closed his eyes as tight as they would go.

The voices continued, but Zak's remained the loudest of them all.

"Stop! Stop! Leave me alone!" Darryl screamed. He couldn't hear his own voice over the loud chanting. His hands refused to stop the deafening sonance. It was like they weren't covering his ears at all.

But, all of a sudden, it stopped.

Darryl could not hear the sounds of a forest. Birds chirped and the branches of bare trees rustled with the icy wind. He could now feel the frigid air pricking at his uncovered face.

He opened his eyes slowly. It was morning. Thank goodness. Darryl assumed it was around 9 A.M. He sat up a bit too fast, resulting in him clutching his aching side with one hand while the other held him up. He sat there for a minute or two to get everything together.

That nightmare still rang in his mind. Why bring Zak into this? He didn't do anything. His mind just detested him. But with each night, the nightmares got worse exponentially.

Darryl sighed once he got everything together, his thoughts organized. He unzipped his sleeping bag and swung his legs out.

He grabbed his boots that were next to him and slid them on, tying them afterward. He then got up and rolled up his sleeping bag. He tried to forget about the horrors that had happened over the night.

Soon he was ready to go. He said goodbye to his campsite and headed in the general direction of south.  
  
  


Darryl trudged up the last bit of a hill and on the other side was a town. It looked... _not_ abandoned. Is there a word for that?

Smoke emitted from a few chimneys. He thought he could see a few people walking about. He just hoped that they weren't more cannibals.

His plan was to just walk straight through the town without stopping for anything. Don't talk to anyone, or answer anyone.

Darryl carefully walked down the hill, clutching his aching side and wincing when he made a wrong step.

When he approached the town, two armed guards stopped him. They wore black bulletproof vests and ski masks.

"What's your business here?" One of the guards inquired.

"Just passing through," Darryl chuckled nervously.

The guards proceeded to get into closer proximity and Darryl put his hands up, backing up while doing so.

"We're just searching you. Stay still." The other guard stated. Darryl held his arms out as the guards patted him down. One of the guards pulled Darryl's switchblade out of his back pocket and held it to where Darryl could see it. One of his eyebrows was raised. He had a look that said, "Really? _Just_ passing through?" Darryl chuckled again nervously. _Wait til you find the other stuff._

Then they searched his bag. It didn't take long to find his hunting rifle, shotgun, and crowbar. It merely took seconds. They confiscated the weapons and grabbed Darryl by the arm.

"Where are you taking me?" Darryl asked, trying to bury his feet in the snow as the guards pulled him along.

"Just for questioning." One grumbled like he did this as a regular thing. He most likely did.

 _What if these people are cannibals too?_ Darryl gulped as more thoughts ran through his mind.

The guards took him into a small, warm building. They placed him in a chair and tied his hands together with rope. They sit down opposite him on two other chairs.

He was in a small room with a warm fireplace to his left.

The guards across from him whispered to each other. Darryl could only make out, "...what if he's one of them?..."

Then the guards turn to face him, their eyes both squinted as if they're trying to see what Darryl's _really_ up to. But Darryl wasn't lying.

"What's your name?" One of the guards stood up and demanded.

"D-Darryl," Darryl's voice quavered, fear present.

"What are you _really_ doing here?" The guard asks. There it is.

"E-Exactly what I said," Darryl felt small as the guard hovered over him.

"You're lying."

"No, I just need to get south to Ameria."

The guards exchanged looks. "Oh, really, now?"

"Y-Yes." Darryl gulped.

"That's exactly where _they_ were going."

"...Who?" Darryl asked out of innocence and general curiosity.

 _Could they be talking about the cannibals...?_ Darryl thought.

"Hey! We're the ones asking-- wait... you don't know who... _they ..._ are?" The guards exchanged looks once more. Then they look at Darryl again. Then back at each other.

"He could be lying," the first guard whispered to the other.

"I dunno, man, he seems pretty innocent." The other shrugged.

"Okay. You," the first guard pointed at Darryl, causing him to freeze, "be very quiet. Don't say another word until we give you the word or ask a question." The guard's eyes were dark.

Darryl nodded quickly, not knowing what was going on.

One of the guards grabs an oil lantern off of a nearby table and turns the knob. A small, baby flame ignites inside the glass and metal lantern. Gradually, it grows.

The guard drops into the hatch first, then the second guard tells Darryl to go down, and lastly, the second guard drops down. He closed the hatch behind them.

The three walked down the cold, dark hallway. The small, flickering flame of the lantern was the only light in sight.

Darryl looked between the two guards. They both had serious looks on their faces.

He didn't know what to think of it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at baroquedesert73 on Tumblr or my email: baroquedesert73@gmail.com


	8. The Silence

**Chapter 8 - The Silence**  
  
  


Darryl never had the time to dwell on what Zak had said to him before he, uh... yeah.

The words 'I love you' rang through Darryl's mind repeatedly with each step taken in that long, dark hallway. Darryl didn't know what Zak had meant by that.

He felt like he took it for granted, his time with Zak. He felt like it was all his fault, in some way. He wanted to head south. They could've just stayed up north and they would've been just fine. He just had that thought nagging him, getting him on his last nerves. He thought, since he'd killed Simon and John, what if... what if he killed Zak? Maybe he'd pissed off the wrong person or something.

Darryl had no idea who actually _shot_ Zak, but he intended on finding out. And killing-- nope. This whole journey was changing Darryl. He started to think about killing people, just like this. His mind was reshaped by the constant danger and harm. He adapted. He adapted so he could survive. But why didn't he feel good about it? Why did he have to feel the opposite?

"We're here." That snapped Darryl out of his petty thoughts. At least he thought they were petty. They were quite important.

The three of them were at a door. It was a metal door. What was the point of all of this? Couldn't they just have told him? What's so secretive about _them_ , whoever they were?

The first guard passed the oil lantern to his offhand and turned the handle of the door before pushing it open. He held the door open and gestured to let Darryl and guard number two know they can enter the unlit room. So, they did.

Once the three opened the door, the first guard closed and locked the door behind them. The room smelled like a tornado shelter; the average damp, underground smell. Guard numero uno placed the lantern on a table that was in the middle of the room.

He sat down in one of the three chairs. "Sit." It was not a request. Darryl sat without complaint. The other guard sat down as well.

"So, you really don't know who they are?" Guard number two asked.

"Are you talking about the cannibals?" Darryl guessed.

"Cannibals? Wh- no," guard one chuckled briefly, but with the next sentence, his face turned dark, "no, they're way worse than them."

"As in...?" Darryl probed. This was much deeper than he had originally thought. But what could possibly be worse than the cannibals that literally tried to kill, _and_ _eat_ him?

Guard number one sighed. "They're the ones that started this whole damn mess."

Darryl's eyes widened as he let that sink in. They're _the ones that started this mess._ They're _the ones that caused the plane to crash._ They're _the ones that got Zak and I stuck in this place._ They _killed him._

He now wanted to see them dead even more. He won't even stop himself from thinking that. He wanted to see them dead for all they've done.

"Did they do something to you?" Guard two asked.

"N-no. They just caused my plane to crash and got me stuck here." Darryl lied, but these people didn't need to know his pain. He didn't want their pity.

"They killed a few of our good buddies. I'm glad to know that they've caused a little less damage."

"Yeah." Darryl smiled lightly.

"We don't know much about them yet, but we are working on that. We know that they always dress to match the environment. Sometimes camo, sometimes in all white to match the snow when they're up here," guard two gave off the information.

"What are they called?" Darryl needed to know.

Guard one looks around before leaning forward and whispering, "they're called...

... _The Silence."_

The name, somehow, sent chills down his spine.

"Let's go. We shouldn't stay down here too long." The other guard nodded in agreement.

As they walked down the hallway, Darryl wanted to ask a question.

"Do you guys have any working cars? I know that you probably won't and shouldn't give it to a stranger, but I couldn't help but ask anyway." Darryl rambled.

"Sure. But it doesn't have much gas. You'll have to scavenge for more along the way." Guard one answered.

"Thank you!" Darryl smiled. Now it wouldn't take long to get to America.

"You should get rest, it's getting late. You can take off in the morning." Guard two said as the came upon the hatch. Darryl nodded.  
  
  


Gunshots thundering in the distance were Darryl's alarm clock that morning. He jumped out of bed, scrambling to get his glasses on. He rushed out the door and bumped into someone.

"Sor--"Darryl got cut off by the person he ran into. The person had shoved Darryl's backpack and weapons into his hands.

"Get to the car and go!" It was the first guard from the day before. More gunshots could be heard and the guard runs off, pulling his pistol out. "Go!" He ordered.

Darryl looked back and forth between the garage a few meters away from where the working car lay and his backpack. He made a decision. He won't just leave these people to die. So, he slung his backpack over his shoulders briskly and grabbed his trusty shotgun. He checked to see how many bullets he had. Two. He bit his lip and ran after the guard, who was taking cover behind a car, reloading his pistol.

"What are you doing?" The guard whisper-yelled once he caught sight of Darryl.

"I'm here to help. I'm not just going to leave you guys to die while I get away safely. Now, who is it?" Darryl knelt down next to the guard, gun in hand.

The guard glanced around before answering. "The Silence."

Darryl nodded, then stood up. Out of nowhere, a TS (The Silence) soldier pinned him to the car, holding his gun to Darryl's throat.

Darryl struggled to breathe as he fought against the soldier wearing all white. The man that constricted his breathing soon released his grip seconds after. That was due to the guard that had stabbed him. The TS soldier fell to the ground with a thud.

"By the way, my name's Mark." The guard smiled, bloody knife still in-hand.

"Okay, let's go then, Mark." Darryl smiled. With that, they ran off into battle.  
  
  


Darryl and Mark dodged incoming bullets by mere inches before they took cover behind an abandoned car.

"Why don't you use your rifle? Shotguns aren't that great for long-distance shooting. In fact, they suck at that." Mark asked, catching his breath.

"I haven't had much practice with it. But I guess shooting it now will be good for that." Darryl chuckled and switched from his shotgun to his hunting rifle. He took it off the safety. He then flashed Mark a smile that said, "Wish me luck!" before standing up straight, lining the rifle up with his eye.

There were a few TS soldiers fighting other guards. Darryl rested his finger on the trigger once the barrel of the gun lined up with one of the soldiers. He squeezed the trigger. The gun didn't have that bad of a recoil, thankfully. But he'd made the shot. The TS soldier fell to the ground. The guard that the soldier was fighting looked Darryl's way and gave him a thumbs-up. Darryl gave the guard a nod.

"Great shot! Get down!" Mark smiled until he noticed a grenade being thrown by a TS soldier. He quickly grabbed Darryl and heaved both of them to the ground a few feet from the car.

Luckily, the grenade only landed on the opposite side of the car from them. The grenade exploded with a boom, which had made the car's windows shatter. Glass shards flew everywhere.

Once Mark had recovered from the blast, he got up and shot the soldier that had thrown the grenade. "Let's go." Mark helped Darryl up, who was unharmed.  
  
  


Soon enough, the TS soldiers were killed. Only a few people had been injured or were dead, but at least the town was saved.

Most guards stood around Darryl, thanking him greatly for his help.

"I'm always glad to help out, it's not a problem." Darryl shrugged.

"Here are some things to help you on your journey," Mark handed Darryl a few items. There was an empty gas can, a short tube for siphoning gas from other cars, two bullets for his shotgun, and three for his hunting rifle.

"Thank you." Darryl smiled and turned to the open garage behind him.

"Good luck!" Mark waved. Darryl turned back and smiled once more.

The car he was driving was an off-white truck, most likely an early 10's truck. It had some rust along some of the edges and the paint was chipped off in some places, but overall the truck was mostly decent. Darryl opened the door to the driver's side and plopped down in the seat after placing his stuff in the back.

He put the key that Mark had given him into the keyhole and turned it. The engine stuttered for a moment, but then it was normal after that.

Darryl put the truck into drive and let his foot off of the brake. He waved to everyone. He barely caught Mark say, "find the Golden Owls!" before driving down the snowy road.

A few hours later, Darryl noticed that the gaslight had turned on. He had been listening to a Johnny Cash CD that he'd found in the glove box. That's because the radio didn't work. Obviously. There's no one around to broadcast any music.

Darryl saw a town in the distance. He estimated that it was about a ten-minute drive.

He drove as far as he could but stopped a few meters away from a bridge in front of the town.

Darryl sighed and stepped out of the car after grabbing the gas can and tube. He shut the car door behind him and hastily made his way toward the cluster of cars.

He unscrewed the lid of the gas can once he was up to the first car. He then opened the lid and unscrewed the cap of the gas tank on the car. He put his nose up to it and sniffed. No gas.

He did that with the next one. There was, fortunately, gas in that one. He placed one end of the tube in the gas can and the other down the gas tank of the car.

As expected, gas flowed through the tube and into the gas can. It wasn't much, so Darryl went to other cars in search of more.

Eight cars later, Darryl had a gallon of gas. He then headed back to his own car and filled up the tank. Thank goodness, a gallon of gas.

Darryl chucked the now-empty gas can and tube into the backseat before getting into his own. He started the car again.

There was no way past the cluster of cars on the bridge, so Darryl knew he'd have to take a detour. He backed up before pulling onto a road leading to the right of the bridge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at baroquedesert73 on Tumblr or my email: baroquedesert73@gmail.com


	9. Close Encounters

**_Two weeks later._ **

Leaves of all colors littered hundreds of trees. They fell gracefully to the ground, littering the road ahead and the floor of the encompassing forest. He would have to guess it was late September. Up north, he'd originally thought that it was winter. That idea was practically self-explanatory. There was no telling of what season it was up there. It was always an endless winter.

Darryl was finally in his home state, the Sunshine State: Florida. He had predicted that he was roughly 30 miles from Orlando. He could barely recognize the area, he'd probably driven through it a few times in the past.

On his journey, he had met a few bands of survivors. He was, of course, skeptical of them, but they proved to be _not_ cannibals. Most places, meanwhile, were completely in desolation. No signs of people, not even any signs of said peoples' bodies. It had left Darryl severely perplexed. There was just... no one. Hardly anywhere. And no one had a clue why.

The thing is, no one had anything to say about it. It was the new normal to them. They'd adapted. Hopefully, there would be more survivors in Orlando. Ones that were trustworthy. Hopefully.

The sun was starting to set, which cast unlimited hues of extraordinary colors. Darryl got a good look at it. There were yellows, oranges, pinks, purples, and blues. Darryl couldn't even begin to count how many vast, alluring colors lined the open sky. The shades and hues were boundless, limitless. And it was breathtaking.

Darryl decided to pull over to the side of the road and turn off the truck he'd borrowed those weeks ago. He was surprised that it stayed in such an okay condition. He reclined the leather seat he was sitting in and watched the astounding sunset. Soon enough, it was twilight and Darryl decided to get some well-earned and needed shuteye.

His eyes opened to the blackness of the moonless night. He had a hunch he wouldn't be able to get back into a delightful slumber, so he didn't bother even trying.

He reclined the seat back to its normal position. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes and rubbed away the sleep the best he could.

It was the middle of the night. The worst part was, and Darryl hated it, that he had a discomforting feeling that someone was watching him. His heart's pace quickened. He felt unsafe, mostly due to the ominous and eerie darkness that encircled him, trapping him.

He fumbled around for where the keyhole was and turned the key that was already placed in it. The car came to life, the sounds of its engine filling up Darryl's ears. He took it out of brake. He then pressed lightly, gradually increasing, on the gas pedal. He made sure to turn on the badly-needed brights before pulling onto the empty road.

A few minutes later, a figure jumped into view. Darryl tried to stop, but he still hit it. He swerved to the side, off of the road, and hit a big tree. His body lurched forward from the sudden stop. He hit his head on the steering wheel before blacking out.

Darryl slowly sat up, opening his eyes to see that it was day already. His head and body were in agonizing pain. But overall, he was mostly okay. He pushed the deflated airbag off of him and stepped out of the truck after swinging open the door.

The front of the truck was steaming and crushed. Darryl groaned, because the car was jacked and of his aching head. He opened the back door of the truck and grabbed his stuff. He brought the gas can and tube with him in case if he found another working vehicle.

He went back around to the front of the car and saw something he hadn't noticed earlier. Blood. He remembered more of what happened. He had hit a deer or something. Whatever it was, it was big.

Over on the paved road was more blood. It crossed the road and led into the woods in a dripping trail.

He retrieved his "borrowed" rifle from his backpack. He wanted to check out what he had hit the night before. It could've been a deer. If it was, he could harvest its meat to eat for the day.

He pulled the bolt back on the rifle to check if it was loaded. _Yep._ He pushed the bolt back in place before stepping onto the road.

The blood trail led into the deep, dark woods. He took a deep breath before crossing the road. The first step he took into the woods sent an eerie shiver down his spine. He had a bad feeling about this. Nevertheless, he persisted.

He took small, cautious steps. _Come on, Darryl. You got this. It's just a deer. Just a deer._ He assured himself. It seemed to help just a bit. His steps became longer and his posture straightened, seeming like a bigger guy. Just in case if it _wasn't_ a deer, he needed to be like this. _Do it for Zak._

He came upon a clearing in the woods where the blood trail stopped. He was confused. Did something get to it before him? His gaze flickered up into the trees, a perplexed look on his face. He furrowed his brows, gripping the rifle in his hands.

Taking another step forward was his biggest mistake. A sudden force took his leg out from under him, dragging it, along with him, up into the air. He lost his purchase on the gun and it clattered to the forest floor, along with his backpack that slipped off of his shoulders.

Upside down, hanging by one ankle, the blood rushed to his brain. He tried his best to reach for the rifle, but his efforts were futile.

Suddenly, a bright idea popped into his mind. He eyed the rope that strung around his ankle and reached his hand into the back pocket for his switchblade.

However, a man in a mask came into view. Darryl halted as his eyes trailed down to the menacing sickle in the man's hand. The man tilted his head, making a clicking noise with his tongue. Darryl could tell the man was smiling underneath his obscuring mask, amused by Darryl's frightened expression.

The man came closer to Darryl, drawing up his sickle. Darryl didn't move, transfixed, as the man traced a line down Darryl's exposed stomach with the sharp sickle.

Darryl knew what the man was going to do, so he quickly pulled out his switchblade, flicked it open with a button, and shoved it into the man's neck.

After that, he instantly began to saw at the rope around his ankle, trying his best to ignore the gurgling sounds emitting from the dying man.

He sawed and sawed, and eventually, it snapped. He hit the ground with a thud, the wind getting knocked out of him. He barely could reach over and grab his rifle. Moments later, as he started to hear footsteps coming towards him, he pushed himself up. He grabbed his backpack and slung it over his shoulders post-haste before coming face to face with the other masked people.

They each had their own weapons. Sickles, machetes, knives. He bolted, following the blood trail back to the road. But the masked people pursued him, trailing behind him. He made it onto the road, with only a bit of time left to aim at one of the masked men. He pulled the trigger on one of them, not missing luckily.

He pulled the bolt back, an empty shell popping out. He shoved the bolt back in place quickly before aiming at the next masked man. He missed but briskly tried again, making it the next time.

He put the gun on safety before stopping to catch his breath. He needed water. He felt like he was going to puke. More people were killed by his hand. He refused to believe that it was just in self-defense. These people had their own lives. Sure, they had a sick way of living it, but what could he expect? There's no government, just survivors trying to survive in their own way.

He sighed before walking down the road, glancing back at his jacked up truck only once or twice. It would really come in handy right about now.

He couldn't even imagine what could've happened if he didn't have his switchblade on him. The masked man surely would've cut him right open. He didn't want to imagine the pain and torture, but his brain went right ahead and visualized it for him anyway.

He held onto his rifle, apprehensive. He didn't want to put it up, there could be more of those masked people around here. He only hoped those were the last of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, I'm sorry that I took so long to update! Anyway, here it is. I decided to post this chapter today instead of waiting until Wednesday because you all deserve it.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at baroquedesert73 on Tumblr or my email: baroquedesert73@gmail.com


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